


The Only One for Me

by holdinginpee



Category: Jolene - Dolly Parton (Song)
Genre: Cheating, Eldritch Jolene, F/F, Gore, Other, Sexual Content, Songfic, Teratophilia, body horror maybe?, how do you tag for weird shadow sex, i was trying for non-linear chronology but i mostly just got in medias res, lesbian Jolene, that comes after the sex not during, two great tastes that taste great together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdinginpee/pseuds/holdinginpee
Summary: Above all else, my husband is a fool.He knew Jolene, and he didn't love her.
Relationships: Jolene/Narrator (Jolene), minor Jolene/Man (Jolene), minor Man/Narrator (Jolene)
Kudos: 9
Collections: The Annual Femslash Kink Meme 2020





	The Only One for Me

**Author's Note:**

> list of things i don't know about, continued:
> 
>   * american small towns
>   * being unhappily married
>   * music
> 

> 
> things in this fic:
> 
> 

> 
> i certainly never expected to write a songfic. you'll be able to tell the parts i edited by the fact that they are worse. this is inspired by [that "eldritch jolene" post](https://ifunny.co/picture/the-song-jolene-but-the-singer-never-stops-describing-jolene-WgcVyqRc6), and uses the lyrics therefrom.

_Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene_  
_I'm begging of you please don't take my man_  
_Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene_  
_Please don't take him like I know you can_

(The room is dark, lit only by the moonlight shining through the window.)

My husband has been a lot of things over the years.

(There’s a wobbly circle of spray paint on the floor. Inside it are two overlapping pentagrams, one inverted, making a ten-pointed star filled with a bunch of crossing lines. In each of the triangles round the middle of that mess, a single object; where each of the points meets the outer circle, a single candle.)

When we were young he was kind, handsome, charming, funny. We could talk for hours and not even realize it. He paid attention to the little things, and he had a way of looking at me like I was the prettiest girl in the world. It’s no wonder I fell for him, really.

(Some of the offerings were easy to find. A child’s lost tooth, but not their first. A flower that grew beside a mushroom ring, smaller and weaker than the ones inside. Blood willingly given.)

When we got older, he started to change. He stopped giving me that look, stopped paying attention. We talked - really talked - less and less. Nowadays he’s surly, drunk, and bigoted; he spends most of his time sitting in his chair, beer in hand, letting the TV tell him who to blame for how the country’s gone downhill.

(Others were harder. A lost belonging, once dearly missed but now forgotten. The skull of an animal no human ever saw, untouched by human skin. Blood forcibly taken.)

Above all else, my husband is a fool.

(None of this is necessary, not truly. She knows where she’s wanted. But giving her these things makes her a little stronger, a little more real. And besides, a girl likes to be wooed.)

He knew Jolene, and he didn’t love her.

(I light each candle in turn, casting everything in flickering orange. Once the last one’s lit, I stand up straight, take a deep breath, and step into the middle of the diagram.)

_Your beauty is beyond compare_  
_With flaming locks of auburn hair_  
_With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green_  
_Your smile is like a breath of spring_  
_Your voice is soft like summer rain_  
_I fell for you when I first saw Jolene_

I knew he was cheating on me, of course. Even if it hadn’t been obvious from how he leaves early and comes back late, not to mention actually tries to look presentable; the man who owns the motel talks to his wife who talks to the other wives who talk to _everybody._ Nobody’s told me to my face, but I knew. I didn’t expect to see his car outside the motel, though.

Honestly, it’s like he’s not even _trying._ He could at least park it round the back, out of sight of anyone who might drive by.

I think about ignoring it, but end up pulling in to park. May as well meet the girl he’s replaced me with; maybe I can warn her off. The boy at the desk, the owner’s son, gives up the room number as soon as I ask. The door bearing that number is like every other door in the place: Worn and peeling, thin enough to let the sound of slapping flesh and breathy moaning carry faintly into the hall.

If he’s even half as good as she makes it sound I will eat my goddamn hat. That asshole hasn’t put in any effort in bed in _years._

I knock sharply on the door, and the noises stop. There’s an awkward period of quiet shuffling before it opens, and there he is, red-faced and rumpled, shirt and pants obviously thrown on in a hurry. I raise an eyebrow and say, dryly, “Hey darlin’.”

He looks mighty uncomfortable. Good; let him squirm. “...Honey,” he grunts. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Saw your car out in the parkin’ lot,” I tell him, giving a pointed glance to the lipstick stains on his skin. “Thought I’d stop in an’ say hi.”

Before he manages to figure out what to say to extricate himself, the girl pops up from behind him. It startles me a little; I didn’t see her coming.

Now that I see her, it’s not hard to tell why he went for her. Loose curls of hair hang down like fire licking at her face, framing pale skin scattered with freckles, the kind of flawless you only see in magazines. Her eyes are the greenest I ever saw, long dark lashes fluttering. Her lips are plump and kissable, bright red lipstick somehow still perfect. She’s only barely decent; a couple buttons keep the shirt from hanging loose, but still show off a stretch of cleavage that hasn’t even begun to succumb to age and gravity. All that’s on her lower half is a lacy pair of underwear, forgoing pants to bare her long, perfectly smooth legs to the world.

She’s impossibly beautiful, and somehow it all comes together to look natural. She’s also not even half my age - shit, I’d be amazed if she was _twenty._ What’s a girl like that see in a guy like him? He sure as hell ain’t got any money to give her. And how have I not heard about her before now? Town this small, a girl that stands out like her should be on everybody’s lips within the hour. It’s been months and there hasn’t been a peep.

I look her up and down - taking in her state of near-undress, the flush in her skin, the way she’s attached herself to him - then turn my eyes back to him. “Who’s your friend?”

She lets go of him halfway to extend a hand and gives me a smile that would make anyone’s heart skip a beat. “I’m Jolene,” she says, her voice bright and melodious.

He glances at her, then back to me. I don’t say anything, just wait to see what he comes up with, and, predictably, he disappoints. “She’s - nobody.”

He’s not facing her when he says it, so he doesn’t see her reaction, but I do. For a barest moment - so quick you’d swear you imagined it - the mask slips and something else crosses her face, something dark and furious and impossibly, unfathomably cruel. And then it’s gone, back to that radiant smile.

“Hm,” I grunt. “Well, don’t be too late gettin’ home, I’m puttin’ on a roast.” I turn to her. “Lovely meetin’ you, Jolene.”

“You too!”

I give her a nod and turn to leave. As I go, hearing the door close behind me, I’m not thinking about my husband at all. That moment, when the act fell away and the darkness peeked through…

In that moment, I knew my heart belonged to Jolene.

_He screams about you in his sleep_  
_And when he wakes does naught but weep_  
_In terror of the one they call Jolene_  
_Your teeth are sharp, your mouth agape_  
_Your claws rend flesh, there's no escape_  
_From the judgement of the eldritch one, Jolene_

In the days that follow after I meet her, my husband begins to fall apart. He’s fearful, startling at every little thing. Stress weighs on him, leaving him worn and haggard. Dark bags grow under his eyes from spending all night tossing and turning.

And then the night terrors start.

The first scream has me bolting upright in bed, convinced I’ll see some murderer looming out of the darkness, but my frantic look around reveals nothing. Finally, I look to where he’s lying beside me; his face is twisted in fear and he’s drenched in sweat, but he’s still asleep.

He lets out another scream, bodily flinching away from something. I nudge him in the shoulder, none too gently, and tell him, “Wake up.” It doesn’t work; I try again, a harder shove this time. “Wake up, asshole!”

No luck. No matter how hard I shake him his eyes stay closed and he just keeps screaming. Eventually I just give up and head downstairs, getting a poor rest of the night’s sleep on the lumpy couch, hearing his screams through the ceiling.

He does wake come morning, but it doesn’t help him much. At least he’s quieter now, having moved on to sitting curled in on himself, sobbing. He doesn’t even notice me when I come into the room, but when I put a plate of breakfast on the nightstand next to him he starts eating it mechanically, chewing and swallowing without seeming to notice while tears keep streaming down his face.

Once he's done, I tell him, “Get up.”

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“ _Up,_ ” I bark. “I gotta change the sheets, an’ _you_ can sleep on the couch if’n you’re gonna-”

“ _No!_ ” he blurts as soon as “couch” leaves my mouth, reaching out to grab my arm with an iron grip. “No, please, please, you can’t, don’t, don’t leave me alone with her, please-”

“Let _go_ of me!” I try and pry his hand loose, to no avail. “You made your bed, I’ll be damned if I’m gonna sleep in it with you.”

“I’m _sorry!_ ” he wails. There’s snot everywhere; it’s pathetic. “I’m sorry! I never shoulda done it, I never shoulda summoned her, I didn’t know - I didn’t _know!_ ”

 _That_ grabs my attention. “You summoned her? How?”

“It was, it was in the book, I didn’t know it would be like this! I’m sorry, _sorry,_ I didn’t-”

“What book?” He doesn’t answer, and I grab him by the shoulders. I’d look him in the eyes, but he’s too busy blubbering. “ _What. Book?_ ”

It takes a bit of shaking and a bit of shouting, and I have to damn near break his fingers to get him to let go of me after, but eventually I manage to get the information out of him and leave him behind to deal with later.

And, that night, I sleep in comfort with the whole bed to myself, even if I can still hear him downstairs. There’s a kind of beauty in those screams - they’re _hers,_ after all - but he mars it enough that it just seems all the uglier by comparison.

_Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene_  
_I'm begging you please don't leave me alone_  
_Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene_  
_I need you more than anything I've known_

“I’m sorry about Pa,” my daughter says as she pours out a cup of tea.

I accept it and take a long sip. “It’s okay, hon. It’s not like I didn’t know he was cheatin’. Hell, it was only ever a matter of time.”

She sighs. “Yeah, he’s a piece of work.” She drinks from her own mug, then levels me with a serious look. “You know you don’t have to stay with him, Ma. Nobody would blame you for leavin’.”

I shrug. It doesn’t matter either way, but she doesn’t know that yet. “I’m fifty-six come August an’ he’s been part of my life since I was seventeen. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

“You could find out,” she says gently. “You’d be able to-” she cuts herself off at the sound of footsteps barrelling down the stairs. “Oh, sounds like he’s awake.”

“Grammaw!” My grandson hurtles into the room, fast enough that I only barely manage to catch him in a hug as he crashes into me.

I beam at him. “Hey, little man!”

My daughter smiles too. “He’s been really excited to show you his new drawings.”

“Is that so?” He nods furiously. “Well, come on then, mister artist. Let’s go see what you did.”

He races off and I pick myself up to follow at a more sedate pace. Even more than a normal visit, I want to make sure he enjoys this. This is gonna be hard enough on them as it is; they deserve their last memory of me to be a happy one.

_Blackening the summer skies_  
_With burning wings and countless eyes_  
_We tremble at the sight of you, Jolene_  
_We cower here beneath your gaze_  
_That sets the Earth and sky ablaze_  
_Have mercy at the end of days, Jolene_

No. No. That hasn’t happened yet.

Has it?

I don’t think it has. It’s so hard to remember with her music playing in my head. Reality itself vibrates with the strain of holding her, and only I can hear it.

You _can_ see her in the sky, though. The trick is to know where to look. You can’t let the birds distract you; it’s the space _behind_ them where you can spot her eyes looking down upon the world.

That’s not in the book. A lot of things aren’t in the book. It’s more like a diary than anything; instructions on how to summon her, then entries and notes from people who’ve done it. A lot of them think she’s some kind of demon, or maybe a god.

They’re wrong, of course. The truth isn’t in there, but I know it like I know my own name.

She’s so much older than any god, so much bigger. She was around before the darkness between the stars, before the birth of time itself. Nothing could hope to stand before her on her own terms.

But her enemies were crafty, and so vast was she that their binding themselves to form and substance passed beneath her notice. Only too late did she realize what they’d done, creating a space she couldn’t reach. She had to strip herself down, tearing away the largest part of her being, and build on what remained with whatever she could find. Things that everyone else had lost, or forgotten, or that nobody thought or wanted to claim for themselves.

She’s not without honor. Everyone who finds her book, who gives her something to build herself with, gets what they ask for, often even what they _want_. Only the ones who try and cheat her suffer.

That was my husband’s mistake. It’s never said outright, but it’s implied over and over: You’re not just giving up an _object._ He put his wedding ring in the circle, the bastard, just ‘cause it was expensive. He didn’t realize he was agreeing to give her his _marriage._

Hah. Either way, she got what he promised her in the end.

 _Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene_  
_I give myself to you forevermore_  
_Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene_  
_Please don't tell me that I can't be yours_  
_Jolene_  
“Jolene.”

The whisper is deafening in the silence of the room, and in the instant it passes my lips the candlelight is snuffed out. The music cuts out as she steps into reality, the diagram and everything upon it consumed as though it were never there.

Everything but me, that is.

She’s still wearing the body I first saw her in, but now I can see it as it truly is. Her bright eyes are dull and cloudy; her clothes are worn and dirty from living on the streets; her hair’s a tangled mess. She’s so malnourished you can see the shape of her bones, and her skin and lips are blue. This poor girl froze to death, and she didn’t have it easy up to that point.

Lost things. Forgotten things. Things nobody else wants.

Those fogged eyes can’t focus, but Jolene’s own spread out in a halo about the head, stretching off to infinity. She smiles, far too wide for the body’s face but far too small for all those teeth.

She reaches out one emaciated hand toward me, placing one finger on my chin as though to tilt back my head. I feel it slice through my flesh without resistance; she freezes instantly, then draws back, looking at her many claws as though surprised. A single drop of blood beads there before falling to the floor. Her smile falls and she pulls her hand back, trying unsuccessfully to hide it behind the much smaller, still human-seeming one.

I want to reassure her, to tell her that it’s alright, but I can’t bring myself to speak. Instead I raise my own hand, extending it slowly to give her time to stop me; when she doesn’t, I gently caress her cheek, smiling as her body’s eyes flutter closed and she leans into the touch.

This whole time she hasn’t cast a shadow, which I only realize now because she suddenly _does._ With the room lit only by a square of moonlight I should hardly be able to see her at all, but both she and myself are perfectly clear; her shadow, by contrast, is indistinct, but I can feel its presence regardless. It crawls up her body towards her face, where I feel it like a hand grasping my own.

She tugs my hand away, and I reluctantly lower it. As I do, her shadow climbs my arm, rustling my sleeve on its way up; she reaches my face, stopping briefly to wipe away the spot of blood before moving on to mirror the caress. I reach up to touch the same place, my hand finding no resistance, letting me feel both where I brush my fingers across my skin.

Her body doesn’t move through all of this, still as - well - a corpse. Her eyes, though, keep moving; some follow the motions she makes, others stay focused on me, yet others watch something else entirely. Which eyes look at what constantly changes, but at any given time the majority are pointed at me.

She moves on, exploring with her shadow hand. It slides around to the back of my head, fingers running through my hair, then down my neck to the top of my spine. From there she moves sideways around my shoulder and traces the shape of my collarbone back to my neck. She glides up, so gently I almost start laughing - I’ve always been easily ticklish - and when her shadow reaches my mouth it doesn’t feel like a hand but soft lips brushing against mine.

As much as I’d like her to, she doesn’t linger there. She reaches up to brush aside a lock of hair that’s fallen across my face before moving down to my back, where the zipper of my dress starts. She tries to tug it down, and it disintegrates between her fingers. The rest of the dress follows, crumbling to dust as though it aged a thousand years in the span of a second and leaving me in only my bra and underpants.

I can’t make for a terribly pretty sight; I’m fifty-five years old and though I’m not exactly fat I’ve not put much effort into staying in shape. But the way she looks at me… it feels like how I’m looking at _her._

Like I’m beautiful.

Her shadow splits, cast upon me in multiple places, each moving to caress a different part of my body; stroking my sides, my hips, my thighs, setting my skin to tingling. One hand slides into my hair again, splayed out to hold onto my head; a set of fingertips trace teasing lines up and down my abdomen, never straying below the line of my panties.

My body sings with desire like it hasn’t in I don’t know how long. My husband hasn’t cared enough to make me feel good in many, many years, and though I can take care of myself just fine, it’s not like _this._

A pair of hands slides beneath my bra, finding my nipples pressing into the fabric; I moan aloud, the first sound I’ve made since saying her name.

She smiles broadly and slips a shadow between my legs, and I moan _louder._

To call her good at this would be an understatement; her touch is better than anything I’ve ever felt. Her shadow is fingers and lips and tongue and cock all at once, filling me up while also stroking up and down my labia and simultaneously licking circles around and sucking on my clit. My legs buckle under the onslaught of sensation, dropping me; something warm and fleshy catches me before I hit the ground.

I can’t keep track of all the sensations, everything blending into a single overwhelming pleasure radiating through my body. I pant and groan as she fucks me, incoherent noises falling from my mouth uncontrolled.

I don’t know how long it goes on for. The sun might be high in the sky for all I could tell. All I’m conscious of is Jolene and the sensations she wrings from my body. It builds and builds, approaching and then passing the point I’d normally come, and I wonder what’s going to happen. Am I going to come? Is she just going to keep going forever, pushing me further beyond anything I’ve dreamed possible? Can I even withstand that, or will my mind break under the pressure? Do I _want_ that?

I’m still making noises, and with an enormous effort I manage to form them into words. “Oh,” I gasp. “Oh, oh, oh - I - Jh- Jo _lene,_ I - oh - I, _ple_ ase, I need - _Jolene!_ ”

She understands me - or, more likely, she knew what I wanted already, and decides to give it to me. A shadow passes over my mouth again, letting me feel her lips pressed to mine even though my mouth is hanging open, and for a second longer I stay suspended on an unimaginable precipice before finally tipping over.

There’s no way to describe the orgasm Jolene brings me to, no way to even _conceive_ of it without having already felt it. It burns through every part of me, my entire existence consumed in a supernova. Time loses all meaning, the moment stretching out into an eternity.

And then, ever so slowly, it starts to recede, dimming until I can remember who I am. It keeps fading, drawing back from the tips of my limbs and into the core of me, until it’s finally completely passed.

I’m suspended in a reclining pose, which is for the best because there’s no strength in any part of my body; I can’t even move my head. There’s pale fleshy tendrils wrapped around me, a branching structure vaguely like the roots of a tree forming a web. They’re warm and soft, pulsing irregularly, and range from as thick as my arm to thinner than a piece of string.

The dead girl is standing over me, watching me with all Jolene’s eyes. The clawed arm has grown longer and thicker, skin torn open to reveal muscle, knuckles resting on the ground; she’s holding her weight differently, leaning on it as well like a third leg.

I try to smile at her and say “Thank you,” though it comes out more as a vague pair of vowels. Her shadow brushes over my lips again, and she leans down towards me, smiling.

She raises her other hand to my forehead and cuts a line into my skin all the way down the middle.

I gasp, the sudden pain shocking me. Adrenaline floods my body but the web of flesh holds me in place, keeping me from pulling away. Her shadow hands crowd to the wound and reach into it, prying the skin loose and from there peeling it off me entirely. The tendrils grow in underneath it, and with a wet noise it falls to the floor.

My body sings with beautiful agony, and I know everything’s okay, because Jolene’s still smiling at me. I smile back with my flayed lips.

She cuts a muscle off my arm, shows it to me, and drops it on the floor, then repeats that with another muscle, this time from my chest. She pries open my mouth to remove a tooth. Slowly, piece by piece, she disassembles me, showing me everything she takes before discarding it. Even when she takes out my heart, I stay alive; even when she drops my second eye, I can still see. Everything that made up my body is slowly strewn across the floorboards, and I’m left behind.

Finally, she gets to the last piece, a segment of spine, and drops that too. She reaches out a hand, the tendrils receding to allow me to take it, and pulls me upright.

I look around - there’s a _lot_ of pieces that make up a person - and then down at myself. It’s not flesh I’m made of now, but a shifting mass of things and images. A river long since dried up, a key that’s disintegrated into rust, a childhood nightmare…

Lost things, forgotten things.

When I summoned her, I was just hoping for a little time. I never dreamed she’d give up part of herself. I never dreamed she’d love me _back_.

I lean in to kiss her directly now that I finally can, and together we leave the world behind.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know how successful i was at writing in first person; i can't sustain a character voice well enough for it. still, i don't think this would have worked as well in third person, and i'm glad i tried it out at least once.


End file.
